


Only Full Moons In Space

by celestialskiff



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Body Hair, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hirsute Women, Kissing, Spaceships, Tilly is a werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: Michael woke to a wolf staring at her.Michael is feeling lost, and undeserving of the affection her werewolf roommate, Tilly, feels for her.





	Only Full Moons In Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MeganMoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganMoonlight/gifts).



> Dear recipient – you said you liked werewolf AUs, and I really rolled with that. I hope this isn’t too far from what you imagined you'd receive. 
> 
> Thanks to my dear capeofstorm for the beta, and to Tumblr friends for helping me with werewolf ideas.

Michael woke to a wolf staring at her. When she sat up, the great tail wagged, and golden eyes fixed on her face. 

“Tilly…?” Michael asked. 

There was no answer, but as Michael observed it, she noticed a familiar affection in the gaze. A melting warmth. It made Michael as uncomfortable as when Tilly hung on her every word. 

“Go to sleep,” Michael said, lying back down. 

The wolf made a noise in the back of her throat – a whine mixed with a sigh. A pale paw, bigger than Michael's own hand, batted the blanket. 

For a second, Michael pictured the wolf trying to climb onto the bed next to her. Her weight, her hot breath. Those huge teeth next to Michael’s throat. She suppressed a shudder. 

“You have your own bunk.” 

The paw retreated. But Tilly remained on the ground next to Michael's bed. She sighed again, a great woof-ing dog's sigh, and laid her head on her front paws. For a second, Michael wondered how the soft, thick fur would feel, between the wolf's fluffy ears. 

She shut her own eyes firmly. 

She slept badly: the hot stink of wolf entered her dreams. Her nightmares of Klingon ships, space, silent explosions, were twisted with images of running through dense forest, breaking her ankle, her mouth painted with blood. 

When she woke up, a woman's body lay next to her bed, naked, covered in downy-soft hair, denser than a human’s body hair, long and fine. The fur covered Tilly's back, her neck, her legs. She looked vulnerable: not like the wolf of Michael’s dreams, but like the woman, being chased. 

Michael carefully stepped around her as she got out of bed. She took the blanket from Tilly's bed, and spread it over her. Tilly responded with a dog-like moan and snuggled into the blanket. 

*

Tilly said, “I don’t have a wolf. The wolf is me; I am the wolf,” but Michael still carefully separated the two in her head. Like her snoring, and her inane chatter, the wolf was an unfortunate symptom: perhaps an aspect of the woman, but certainly not her whole self. 

They went running together, Tilly panting, sweating, but relentless, and Tilly said, “This would be much easier on four paws.” 

“You’re not going to be on four paws when you’re captain,” Michael said, carefully not looking at her. 

Tilly was silent, her breath a hot pant. Then she said, “I could be. Sometimes four paws might work better than two hands.”

Michael tried to picture it: the huge silver wolf at the helm. Teeth and snout. Tilly pacing the halls of a Klingon vessel, sinking her teeth into an exposed throat. She shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t talk about it like that.” 

It wasn’t until they were in the mess hall, hunched over the narrow table, that Tilly said, “Don’t talk about it like what?” 

“Like it’s a joke.” Michael poked at her burrito. Stopped wanting to eat it. 

“It’s not a joke.” Tilly swallowed. “It makes a lot of people uncomfortable. It makes you uncomfortable.” 

Michael didn’t patronise her by disagreeing. 

“Humans make my dad uncomfortable. He said it wasn’t safe to put myself on a spaceship with a lot of humans.” Tilly twirled her mug between her hands. “He said they’d turn on me eventually. But I have more faith.” 

Faith. Michael didn’t think she had a lot of faith in human nature. She had once, she supposed: or she’d had more hope, more optimism. Tilly was too young to have those things stripped from her. Looking at the openness on her face scared Michael: _You are going to be hurt,_ she thought. _And when it happens, it’s going to shatter you._

“My dad is a homemaker,” Tilly said. “Pack is everything to him. Mom works as a researcher in biochemical engineering, but she comes home every weekend, and we run together, with the rest of the pack. I don’t feel scared up here, but I miss them. I miss pack.” 

The way Tilly spoke made it sound like she’d had a bucolic childhood: running in the woods, devoted parents. Lots of hugging and emotions. But Michael kept seeing the forest, the trees reaching ever upwards, and the silver wolves bounding through the dark. 

“Did you hunt?” Michael asked. She didn’t consider her words: the question seemed to come from her subconscious, and she kicked herself for saying it. 

“Deer, mostly. There are a lot of deer in the woods near home, and we had a licence to cull a certain amount. But I’m not much of a hunter. Being in the world, as wolf, smelling the animals, the heat of skin and fur...” Tilly coughed, and looked down at her plate. Her burrito was mostly consumed. “Even when I’m human my sense of smell is unnaturally attuned. I could find my way all over the ship by smell.” 

Tilly’s eyes were fixed on Michael’s face. She looked eager, uncertain. She wanted to share this, Michael saw, she didn’t want to be afraid to share this part of herself. 

“Saru has a good sense of smell, too,” Michael said. “Human olfactory senses are very rudimentary compared to most species.” 

That seemed to be the right thing to say: Tilly nodded eagerly, and began to talk about the olfactory nerves of various races. 

*

Michael’s arm was swollen, the blood blooming below her eye. She staggered back to quarters. Dr. Culber had wanted to keep her in sickbay, but she’d discharged herself. Her room was blessedly empty: she dimmed the lights, and sat on the bed. 

Then she began to shake. She instantly felt separate from herself: a clinical voice reminded her that this was a response to trauma. She breathed carefully. The images that flooded her mind were not from the skirmish earlier, that quiet brush with death – they were images of Philippa, Philippa inviting her to dinner, Philippa showing her how to negotiate a trade deal, Philippa at the window, outlined in stars. Philippa’s voice, guiding her home. 

The blood on Michael’s hands was her own, but she saw it as Philippa’s. She heard the sound of a bone breaking. The sound of a ship’s hull rending. She put her head in her hands, and did not weep, but breathed through the trembling, the red light behind her eyes. 

“Go away,” she bit out, when Tilly came in. 

There was a long, potent silence. Michael felt shame, felt fingers clawing at her guts. 

“I can’t,” Tilly said. 

“Why not?” 

“Because you’re hurting.” The bunk shifted as Tilly sat next to her. She felt the warmth of a hand on her back. 

“Go away,” Michael said again. The words were hard to get out. The world was red and trembling, as though it would burst into pieces. “Please, go away.” 

The hand was removed. And Michael, horrified with herself, missed it. Because the problem was she _wanted_ Tilly’s comfort, however awkward and cloying. She did not want this shame, this silence. 

Long, long silence followed, but Tilly did not leave. Then a strange, terrible sound: a crunch of sinew, of bone, and a feeling in their air, like the moment after thunder. Michael knew what had happened, though she couldn’t have articulated how she knew. 

Tilly’s giant head pressed into her lap. Golden eyes regarded her. The cold nose nudged at her hand: a soft, hot tongue licked her. Michael shivered. 

An instinct, deep inside her, said _predator_. It said, _run._

Michael shut her eyes. The stink of wolf had become familiar now, invading her quarters regularly. The wolf’s weight in her lap was grounding. Even the fear was grounding: it was familiar, and different from her pain. Michael breathed around the raw ache in her chest. 

She put her hand on the wolf’s head. On Tilly’s head. The fur was dense and deeply textured: rich and complicated, like the taste of a fine wine. She kept her hand still. The wolf was very still too, composed. They were both, Michael realised, afraid of frightening the other. 

Carefully, Michael moved her hand. She burrowed her fingers in fur. She lowered her head. She felt the wolf’s breath on her skin, and inhaled her scent: not unpleasant, a musk, bitter and sweet at the same time. Her head drooped so close that she was almost resting her forehead on Tilly’s. Then, at last, she began to cry. 

*

Sometimes, now, she returned to the wolf in her quarters, not the woman. Tilly could go long periods without transforming – it was only truly vital to her health that she change once a month – but she was more comfortable if she changed regularly. To her surprise, Michael began to feel relief when she returned to find the wolf sleeping on the bed. 

Tilly always looked up when she saw Michael, ears pricked, but she did not talk, and there was a quiet companionship between them. Then the wolf would begin to look at her longingly, and after a time crossed from her bunk to Michael’s. She was huge and ungainly when she climbed onto the bunk, her grace the grace of open spaces not starships, and Michael felt bowled over by her limbs and weight. 

But she didn’t push her away. She’d place her hand on Tilly’s head, and Tilly would _whuff_ in appreciation, and press her nose into Michael’s neck. Heavy paws rested on Michael’s thigh, thick fluffy fur tickled her skin. And Michael wrapped her arm over the wolf’s neck, and pretended that this did not count as cuddling. 

* 

Music played in the mess hall. Someone had replicated streamers and designed dancing silver lights. Michael paused outside, feeling at home in the place of observer, watching the movement of people, the patterns of friends and colleagues as they danced and touched hands and laughed. She smiled at an ensign from an engineering, but did not accept his offer to lead her into the fray. 

She was aware of Tilly’s presence before she saw her, though she couldn’t have said how she knew. Tilly’s arm brushed Michael’s. 

“Do you want a drink?” Tilly had to raise her voice over the noise. 

Michael shook her head. 

Tilly returned with two disposable glasses. “Cranberry and vodka.” Tilly’s cheeks were flushed, smiling. 

“Go and dance with Ensign Fadil,” Michael said. “He’s looking at you.” 

Tilly shook her head. She was watching Michael. 

“I’m not dancing with you,” Michael said, in the same tone of voice she used around the wolf when she wanted to climb into Michael’s lap. 

Tilly shrugged. “Let’s go for a walk instead.” 

Michael was aware of relief as they walked away from the party: the corridors were cooler here, the quiet like a gentle breeze on her face. Tilly’s hair bounced around her shoulders, almost as bright as her wolf’s fur. 

“You should spend time with the others, you know,” Michael said. “Foster relationships.” She took a sip of from the cup Tilly had given her, just so it wouldn’t spill onto her uniform. It tasted too sweet and too bitter at the same time. 

“I like fostering this relationship.” Tilly downed the remainder of her drink, and crushed the small cup in her hand. 

“It’s important to broaden your horizons,” Michael said. 

“Everyone likes me.” Tilly looked over at Michael, suddenly shy. “I like you best.” 

Michael felt a twist of nausea in her stomach. “Don’t say that.” 

“But I do. I can’t help it.” Tilly twisted the cup between her hands. “You were scary when we first met, but I still liked you. And now you’re… You’re the one I trust.” 

Michael stopped walked. She sighed. “I’m not a good person, Sylvia,” she said, carefully. 

“But you are!” Tilly gripped Michael’s shoulders. “You are, I can tell. It’s a… It’s a wolf thing. We know.” 

“Don’t...” Michael swallowed. “Don’t set so much store by instinct. Look at the facts.” 

“I am,” Tilly said. Her eyes looked wet, and Michael realised this was very important to her. That she was trembling with feeling, in a way that made Michael afraid. And Michael realised that her own body was reflecting Tilly’s, that she, too, was brimming over with something. 

“Michael, you...” Tilly swallowed. “You made a mistake. A big mistake. But you’re not a bad person. And you deserve… you deserve to be loved.” 

Michael wanted to run away from her then. It was too much. Tilly’s wet eyes, her hands, her sincerity. Michael wanted to get as far away from it as she possibly could, which wasn’t far enough, given the limits of the Discovery. She might have run anyway, if it wasn’t for the closeness of the corridor, and the goddamn drink in her hand, and the pressure of Tilly’s hands. 

Instead, she put the cup on the floor. She looked at Tilly, and was reminded, viscerally, of the wolf she’d stroked only yesterday, the warm furry beast with the wet nose. And it was wrong, she knew, to separate the two. The creature she’d _was_ caressed Tilly; Tilly had made her feel good, and safe. 

And she couldn’t turn away from Tilly now. 

“Oh, fuck, Sylvia...” she said, very softly, feeling the syllables of Tilly’s real name in her mouth. 

Sylvia tilted her face towards Michael. 

When they kissed, it was hotter and briefer than anything Michael had anticipated. It left Michael reeling. 

*

Two days later, two days of long shifts and staring at each other, and sleeping in the same room and sharing the same routines, two strange days heavy with anticipation, they kissed again. 

Clothes were removed. It was deliberate. Sylvia asked Michael if it was OK, and Michael said it was, and they stripped in front of each other, like cadets going to the communal showers. 

And yet, it wasn’t anything like that at all. Michael’s mouth was dry, her pulse raised. Her body felt strange and hot and not quite her own. 

Michael touched Sylvia’s arm, her back. She’d ended up straddling Sylvia’s thighs, the smooth hair tickling her legs. Sylvia was covered in hair, finer than a human’s, and silky under Michael's fingers, soft as swan’s down. Sylvia’s body felt plush to her, something easily bruised. But when Sylvia sighed at the touch, pressing her thighs against Michael’s legs, her nose into Michael’s neck, Michael felt her strength. 

Michael’s mouth was dry, her lips parted. She stared down at Sylvia: suddenly the woman’s eyes seemed golden, her small mouth containing too many teeth. Michael felt a shudder of fear run through her, of knowing what this compact body could become. But the fear was a heat in her stomach, in her groin, and she knew she wasn’t going to turn from it. 

“I’m...” Michael began, but words didn’t come. 

Sylvia touched her cheek, her ear, and Michael felt her own breath rasp in her throat. She was scared, she realised, not just of Sylvia’s golden eyes, but of all of this: the touch of skin, the closeness of their bodies, the heat pooling between them. 

“You’re – you’re so beautiful, Michael,” Sylvia said, and there was a nervous edge to her voice, as though, Michael thought, she really meant it. 

Michael turned her face away. Sylvia’s gaze, so full of affection, was too much. 

“It’s OK,” Sylvia said, softly, and though she was under Michael on the bed, she did her best to draw away. “We can stop, you know. We can just lie here. Or I can leave you alone.” 

That made Michael begin to smile. Because Sylvia could never leave her alone, not when she was afraid Michael was hurting. Sylvia smiled back, and touched her nose to Michael’s cheek, her lips to Michael’s ear. 

“I need...” Michael swallowed. “I need you to know what you’re doing. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Sylvia smiled. “I can do that.” 

When Michael was under lying on her side, facing Sylvia, her breath came more easily. Then Sylvia’s nips and kisses to her neck, her breasts, began to make her tremble and her breath came in gasps. Sylvia slid down her body, pressing kisses to skin so sensitive it was almost ticklish. Michael felt herself shudder, but she didn’t want to pull away – that was the last thing she wanted. She breathed, letting the waves of sensation cascade over her. 

As Sylvia reached Michael’s stomach, she looked up, meeting Michael’s half-closed eyes. “Should I keep going?” 

Michael was almost beyond words. “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes.” 

Sylvia licked her lips. As Syliva’s mouth touched Michael’s vulva, Michael felt her muscles tighten. She thought, suddenly, of the wolf again, of the teeth that could rend her limb from limb. Then as she looked at the red curve of Sylvia’s head, felt the long hair brushing against her thighs, she realised the wolf never would. Because the wolf was Sylvia, and Sylvia adored her. 

She didn’t know when her eyes closed. Her hands fisted against the sheets, her throat dry from making sounds of pleasure. 

*

Sylvia was at the mirror, using an epilator on her chin. Michael knew it numbed the skin before it removed the hair, but her chin still looked sore and red. 

“Would it grow as long as their hair on your body?” Michael asked. She was polishing her boots. 

“Maybe longer,” Sylvia said. “My mother’s is much longer.” 

Sylvia rarely showed her arms and legs, carefully removing the hair on the parts of her body that were visible so she looked just like any other human. Right now her sleeves were rolled back, and Michael realised she was privileged to see the soft red hair curling along Sylvia’s forearms. 

“Maybe you should grow it out.” 

Sylvia stopped. “You told me not to joke about the wolf.” 

Michael got up. She stood behind Sylvia, looking at both their reflections. “Maybe I was wrong.” 

“Captains can’t have beards. Not if they’re also human women.” Sylvia touched her chin, the red patch where the hair had been removed.

Michael put her hand over Sylvia’s. “Well, maybe this one can.”


End file.
